Pygmalion
by Blooregard Q. Kazoo
Summary: Madison Dempster awakes one morning to find herself the new leader of the Black Ghost organization, much to the chagrin of those around her, of course.
1. Chapter 1

**Pygmalion**

Chapter One 

**Madison Dempster awakes one morning to find herself the new leader of the Black Ghost organization, much to the chagrin of those around her, of course. However, she's too nice for her own good, so a bit of manipulating was needed for her to take command. Furthermore, she learns of a new creation, the cyborg aids. _Disclaimer: Cyborg 009 is copyrighted material. This story is in no way affiliated with its owners. _**

* * *

The state of Maine was a lonely place for a single woman. A single woman who just happened to own a three-bedroom house, and had no one to fill them with. The state was rather large in size, but despite that vastness, was home to a small population. It was the kind of place parents would want their children to grow up in, and the kind of place an elderly couple could retire to without having to worry about locking their doors at night. It was safe, and a location where you'd most likely find someone who just happened to live a life without surprises. 

And that someone, who lived a life of solitary simplicity, would find her world plummeting down the drain with a single knock at her front door that very day. 

She lived in a small town that lay on the west bank of a large river. From her front step, where she stood every morning to pick up the paper that was carelessly tossed onto her porch, over the tree line in the distance, a few masts were visible, pointing their tips at the clouds. She went down to look at the boats once. However, after several moments of not seeing anything that was worth watching, she concluded their owners had tied them up only to show them off. 

With the early morning, a light drizzle came. The paper-boy covered the newspaper with a red-tinted plastic bag that collected the moisture in round beads. She picked it up carefully, shaking it a little to rid the bag of most of the water. She held it with her right hand, and absent-mindedly wiped the dew off the left with the back of her skirt. She turned to face the door, her hand reaching for the handle, only to stop abruptly. 

From the road that curved across the front of her house, around the corner blocked by trees, a light humming was faintly heard. A car was coming, something that didn't happen quite often. The town was self-sustained, with a low population, and the majority of the houses were nothing but weekend retreats or summer homes. She turned her head to the left, but looked away, realizing it was none of her business. It would be quite rude; to stand on her porch and glare at a car as it went by. With a heavy sigh, she returned to her empty home. 

The car was out of place, driving down a desolate road that passed through a small town that was hardly known. It obviously belonged to someone who was either rich or powerful, for the sheer size of the car inclined many to suspect that its price tag included many zeros. It was black in color, with a lustrous finish that made it shine, sending several white streaks of reflected sunlight across its surface. The windows were black as well, making it impossible to see whom, exactly, was on the other side of the glass. 

With the squeal of its tires, it made a turn into her driveway, sending a cloud of dirt from behind. The driveway was hard-packed earth, not paved over with black tar. The numerous stones imbedded in the dirt caused the car to bounce a few times, and the passenger inside grabbed the armrest to steady himself. He held onto his hat with his other hand, keeping it in place. 

"This," he said in a monotone voice, "may take a while." 

He saw the reflection of the driver in the rear-view mirror. He nodded once, understanding, and turned the engine off. 

The passenger stepped out of the car, pulling out a pair of black sunglasses from his trench-coat pocket before he shut the door. Being early in the morning, after a soft rain, the surroundings still held an eerie gray tone to them. However, a life of being shut in various laboratories, working on experiments, and never getting to see the sun on a regular basis, left his eyes sensitive to most sunlight. With the flick of his wrist he snapped them open and put them on. 

The woman's house was built over one hundred years ago, that much she was certain of. The stairs would often squeak at the smallest addition of weight, so it came to no surprise when she heard the man before he knocked. The first moan of the bottom step was loud enough to be heard over a radio that spoke softly of the morning's news. She stood up from the kitchen table where her newspaper was spread, and entered the living room. On the right side was the front door. 

Just as she reached it, a loud knock shook the curtains that covered the window. They might have blocked the image of the man, but also gave her a silhouette of his figure. He obviously wore a hat, for the brim stuck out quite a few inches. A high collar was also visible, giving her the impression that he was wearing a large jacket. 

While greeting most guests she would smile warmly and guide them into her home to be polite. However, upon opening the door, a quick glance at the visitor made her uneasy. His attire was almost entirely black, minus the white dress shirt he wore beneath his trench coat. The coat stopped at his knees, the collar opening enough to show the black tie against the contrasting white shirt. Four large, gray buttons adorned the front, and his outfit wouldn't be complete without black pants, brimmed hat, and glossy black shoes that shined like his car. 

"Miss Madison Dempster, I presume?" 

He removed his hat with courtesy, tipping it with a nod to reveal a bald head. However, his polite charms were no match for her intuition. 

"Can I..." she paused for a moment, thinking of the right words, "help you?" 

"Ah, but it's the other way around, I'm afraid. You see, I have news regarding your uncle." 

A confused look on her face, Madison opened the door wider to usher him in. 

"Thank you," he said, still holding his hat by the brim. 

"Can I take your coat and hat for you?" She questioned kindly. 

He shook his head and raised his palm to gesture 'no'. 

_Oh, where are my manners?_

Madison, who seemed tense only a short while ago, suddenly smiled and it was as though, upon first glance, that she was, literally, radiating with kindness. She lifted her hand, and, still smiling, introduced herself. 

"You know who I am, Sir, but I'm afraid I haven't caught your name." 

The corners of his mouth curved upward in a smile, though it was rather crooked, as if he hadn't smiled in a long time. He was quite thankful of his eye condition at the moment, because, if they were uncovered, she would have seen the air of suspicion held within them. 

"I am Dr. Farish, it's a pleasure," he said while shaking her hand. 

Madison was a bit surprised by his hands. Judging from his outward appearance, she assumed that he was the kind of person who didn't work in fields that required physical labor. However, his hands were rough and callused as if he worked with them often. She also became aware of the fact that he was still holding onto her hand after several moments passed by. She peered down at her hand encased within his, and Dr. Farish was quick to notice. 

He dropped her hand quickly, eyeing the couch a few feet away. 

"I think you might want to sit down, considering what I have to tell you." 

* * * * *

If Madison hadn't already set her teacup down, the contents would be spreading across the material of her skirt, occasionally dripping on the buff-colored, spotless carpet. Instead, to remedy the absence of dropping something in surprise, she felt a gasp would suffice nicely. It took a moment or two of contemplation to come up with the right words to say, considering what this Dr. Farish told her, much less _offered_ her. 

_You're uncle Scarl, rest his soul, has left you his legacy, the Black Ghost Organization._

Black Ghost... the name sounded so _wrong_ when it came from his lips, his voice horse and scratchy when he said it. 

"Black Ghost," she repeated more to herself than anything else, "it sounds like some black market you'd find in a foreign country. It's not a bad organization, is it? Because if it is, I'll have no part in it." 

She looked Dr. Farish in the face, searching for anything unusual in his features. If he cringed or so much as looked surprised by her sudden dialogue then she would conclude that her assumptions were correct. 

But Dr. Farish did not waver, stutter, falter, nor so much as give a surprised expression. 

"Where on earth would you get such an idea, young lady? I assure you, the organization is completely harmless. In fact, we're doing a lot of good." 

Madison gave Dr. Farish a quizzical glance, urging him to continue. 

"You see," he added, "we're a combination of peace supporters and robotic technicians. We specialize in creating technology that can aid in maintaining peace. However, I'm unsure if you're ready to hear what those technologies are..." 

"I'll be the judge of that," Madison scoffed. 

"Well, we create cyborgs from people who wish to do good. You could probably say that we're a superhero factory. However, upon the death of your uncle, we've had some unforeseen problems." 

Teacup resting on her lips, not daring to take another sip in fear for what else he'd say, Madison only glared with an even more puzzled look. Did he say what she thought he said? Cyborgs? What on _earth_ did he mean? 

"Those problems," he continued, "were caused by renegade cyborgs who didn't believe in what we were doing. They fooled us into thinking that they were on our side, then left as soon as they acquired their new abilities. We've created several aids, who should be seeing to that now..." 

"Aids?" 

"Yes. You see, we've created cyborgs whose capabilities range in areas that aren't meant for fighting. They have abilities that can be used to _aid_ in various situations, like healing or hacking into computers. However, when used correctly, this skills can be used to take down the toughest enemy, even renegade cyborgs." 

Dr. Farish looked toward Madison, whose facial expressions ranged from grief of her uncle, to confusion regarding her latest information. Truth be told he was met with his own confusion earlier that day. Being the niece of Scarl, he expected something _different_, to say the least. Her faltering attitude would not suffice for leadership, so it was necessary for him to delve into a false history of the Black Ghost Organization. 

Hopefully, _something_ would go right this day. Something that pertained to the capture of the renegade cyborgs. He had complete faith in the capabilities of his cyborg aids, but that's not to say that he wouldn't rely on something _else_, something much greater than simple weaponry and skills. He would rely on the human compassion individuals harbored for their loved ones, especially when these loved ones were so dear... 


	2. Chapter 2

**

Pygmalion

**

Chapter Two 

* * *

In the forests of Northern Maine, a large, placid lake was placed, surrounded by nothing but nature and what it had to offer. The surface was occasionally broken by insects, fish, or falling leaves that sent ripples outward, distorting the images that were reflected on its surface. Amidst the scenery something was... out of place, to say the least. A few meters away from the lake, concealed by the brush and various medium-sized pine trees, was a rather large metal dome. Its surface was smooth and silver, the top catching rays of sunlight that bounced off-ward into the eyes of two individuals, Madison and Dr. Farish. 

Her eyes were transfixed on the dome, her right hand lifting up so her index finger curved over her chin and under her bottom lip in a pensive glare. She scanned it over, wanting, desperately, to believe that Dr. Farish did not wish for her to set foot in there. But alas, her better judgment, and common sense, I might add, got the better of her. Why else would Dr. Farish drive her to the middle of no where, where a house could not be seen for several miles no matter which direction you looked in? 

She sighed, gazing at him questioningly. 

"How do you suppose we get in there?" 

As if to answer her question in the simplest way possible, he walked toward the dome, his fingers trailing down the sloping side until they came in contact with an area that raised slightly. He applied a little pressure, pushing the area inward to let out a hallow clang. The clang was followed by the foliage, which lay in a neat pile by her feat, shaking as if a tremor were happening in that one, secluded spot. The leaves were pushed aside with a spray of dirt and tiny pebbles, giving way to a control panel that shot upward from the ground and reached nearly to her hips. 

Madison remained silent; though stepping away a few paces so she wouldn't remain in close proximity. 

Seeing her hesitant stance, he turned around and walked toward the control panel, pushing a few buttons as if it were an ATM machine. When he was through, a whooshing noise, which sounded vaguely like someone opening a package that was vacuum-sealed, was heard. A door had opened directly in front of them, on the surface of the dome. 

"Now, you're absolutely _sure_ that you want to do this?" 

He gazed skeptically at Madison, who had done nothing but waver since the trip to Northern Maine. 

"Positive," she answered 

"Well, follow me, then," he said after a short pause, motioning for her to come his way. 

Green-tinted light flooded through the tiny door. The top of the dome was no more than six feet tall, give or take an inch or two, but the door itself was slightly larger than five feet, causing both Dr. Farish and Madison to duck on the way through. The light was low, barely strong enough to illuminate the surroundings. From what she could see, which was very little, the entire area was metal and rounded, with a small, vertical control panel plastered to the wall on the far right-hand side. 

The control panel reminded her of a circuit breaker box. The kind that someone checks when the power goes off for no apparent reason. The front was locked, and Dr. Farish rummaged through his pocket that seemed to be filled with loose change, since, with every movement of his fingers, a light jingle would sound. He pulled out a small key, unlocked the door, and revealed a mess of wires and buttons. Madison peered over his shoulder, but soon decided it was too complex and looked away. 

"You might feel a jump," Dr. Farish mentioned after several seconds of silence, causing her to wince a small amount. She was still quite nervous, and the slightest noise sent her fear skyrocketing. 

As promised, a slight snap reverberated, the echo making it impossible to pinpoint which direction it came from. The noise was followed by a jolt that caused her feet to loose their balance, but she was unable to find anything to brace herself with. Stifling a gasp, she settled for leaning against the wall behind her. Her hands gripped at the wall with no prevail, and to her surprise, the jolt was quickly followed by the sensation of her body raising, but not lifting into the air completely. Somehow, this sensation was familiar, and after a few moments of processing what just happened, she came to a conclusion: 

The dome was an elevator, and they were traveling underground. 

* * * * *

Like many scientists of his caliber, Dr. Farish had a sidekick. A young, geeky kid in his twenties who had not the skills or attitude for leadership, but had brains nonetheless. The kind of kid who, in addition to the aforementioned, was also low on self-esteem and courage, leaving him obedient to anyone who gave an order, despite what rank the person who spat out commands held. He was not the ideal sidekick, but he did as told and understood the concepts behind the various experiments done in the underground base. For now, he was the best Dr. Farish could find. 

This particular sidekick went by the name of Stuart, no last name given, for it was unimportant. He held a triangular beaker in one hand, the top plugged with a cork, a strange, pink and glowing liquid filling it halfway full. The other hand was grasping a thin vial, also plugged, which contained a fine, white powder. 

He _knew_ those two substances should never make contact with one another. Unless, of course, the desired outcome was a cloud of smoke with lethal side affects. He was simply sorting out the various containers in the underground compound, searching for a particular substance with a name he could never pronounce. 

His fingers were lightly gripping the containers in fear of breaking the glass. He was well aware of the fact that the sides were thick, unbreakable by the human hands, if by anything at all. But still, there was that nagging doubt that kept prodding the back of his mind... Besides, he had done enough damage that day; there was no need to evoke the wrath of his superior a second time in the span of five hours. 

His eyes, at the very thought of _damage_, shifted their gaze to the far left-hand corner. The debris had long since been removed, but some evidence was still visible of the disastrous occurrence that happened that day. The corner was black and covered in soot. The walls in that particular spot, that were once shining, silver metal, were melted somewhat, then hardened again to leave the surface distorted, with the occasional hole from a bubble caused by the immense heat. 

He sighed, bowing his head slightly at the memory of Dr. Farish's face. How was it humanly possible to become such a shade of red? 

The bang of a door opening rang through the large room, the emptiness of his surroundings increasing the volume ten fold. His surprise at the abrupt noise was displayed by the sound of glass rolling. He had dropped the two containers. Fear swept through his veins while he stooped to pick them up at a quick pace. Grabbing one in each hand, he wiped imaginary sweat from his brow while sighing in relief; they were not broken. 

"Stuart, may I speak with you for a moment?" 

Though his back was facing the origin of the voice, he knew who was addressing him. It was strange, how Dr. Farish suddenly seemed calm, his voice monotone for a change, not hitting those loud, shrill notes he usually screamed at the top of his lungs. 

"Yes, sir?" 

He turned around sharply; saluting in a manner that made him look awkward. A few beads of sweat cascaded down his forehead, causing a few tufts of dark brown hair to stick to it. His glasses were resting over his large nose; the frames wide and black, making it look as if his eyes were twice their normal size. He fit the criteria of a geek, indeed. 

However, his faltering face lit up when he saw the woman who stood by Dr. Farish. Could _she_ possibly be the reason for his change in attitude? Curiosity swept over his features. 

"Sir, who's your lady friend?" 

He smiled brightly at Madison, who, in return, blushed lightly and lowered her head a little. Dr. Farish was unaware, however, for he was too busy glaring at Stuart with a look that would, literally, kill if it were possible for such a thing to happen. Stuart, ignoring the glance, bowed his head slightly. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss...?" 

"Dempster," Madison filled in, "Madison Dempster." 

However, before a formal introduction was completed, Stuart was grabbed by the collar of his long, white coat, and dragged as gently as Dr. Farish could possibly drag someone, out of the room. Stuart made no protest, and only smiled throughout the whole ordeal. 

"Come, Stuart, I must brief you on the situation..." Dr. Farish's echoing voice was heard as his body diminished from sight, traveling down a long hallway that lead to his office. 

Madison, suddenly finding herself alone, gave a quick sweep of the area around her. It wasn't much, but it was neat and tidy. Her feet began to take a mind of their own, suddenly, and she walked a few paces forward, eyeing the contents on a near by desk. Beakers and vials were everywhere, it seemed, and each harbored a different liquid or substance with a label that only confused her. 

However, as her eyes wandered from one object to the next, something in the corner caught her undivided attention. Built into the wall, somewhat covered by the shadows in the dimly lit room, were three tubes. She walked over to them, her feet, every time they came down, created a soft clang that filled the room. She gazed at them with a gaping expression; eyebrows raised a tad as she tried to make sense of what they could possibly be. 

She brought her hand up absent-mindedly, wiping away at a film of a dust that covered what appeared to be some sort of label. With a quick horizontal movement, the dust settled to the ground in one large clump. 

_0014_, it read. 

The tube was cylinder in shape; the entire object made from some sort of plastic material. The only metal was in the form of a base that connected to the ground, and the various large wires that were inside, coiled on the floor of the interior. One large wire went from the very top of the cylinder and connected to the ceiling some odd yards away. 

On the immediate right were the remaining two tubes. Her hand, once more, wiped away a film of dust that blocked lettering. _0015_, _0016_... what did they mean? 

And then, as if she had met someone from her past, her face lit up with surprise, and she recollected a particular phrase spoken by Dr. Farish. 

_0014, 0015, 0016... the name of the Aids we've created. They were sent out a few weeks ago to track down the renegade cyborgs. They should, if all has gone well, and no mishaps have occurred, met up with them by now. However, they're not targeting the whole group. Instead, they've set their sights on two particular members, two of which are necessary for the renegade cyborgs to continue fighting. Yes, take down these two rebels, and the whole group will follow..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Pygmalion**

Chapter Three 

* * *

A long highway branched to the left, the tar beginning to fade as the distance increased. After a mile or so, the black became a light shade of brown from the dusty sand that layered over the entire landscape. Here and there, green, wilted grass appeared, popping up from the cracks in the ground beside a small town that seemed void any living beings. That was all the vegetation within eyesight. Years of drought had destroyed whatever grew there, and had taken its toll on the inhabitants, who had moved away some time ago. 

The small town _looked_ abandoned. Nothing in the few mile radios it occupied gave an air of activity. The various glass pains of several houses were laden with holes; the surface surrounding them caked with a layer of dust that would seem several inches thick. The small road that served as the main transportation route was uneven, the cracks and dismantled tar causing pieces to overlap one another. Between the broken pieces grass, dandelions, and other such weeds made their home. 

The phone poles that lined the edge of the road lead to a large warehouse before continuing. However, from one, quick glance, it was clear to those passing by that it was no longer in use. Its frame was covered by sheets of light green metal that were beginning to rust on the corners from _lack_ of use, and a gaping hole on the side gave insight to the old, abandoned machinery within. 

But for one lonely person, who, despite the laws of gravity, was flying through the air at a tremendous speed, the warehouse was not the center of attention, but rather, what lay beside it. A small fountain was nestled between the road and the warehouse, giving relief to those who were unfortunate enough to drive down the seemingly endless highway. With a skid, the person stopped, a large cloud of dust rising from underneath his boots. 

While his destination _was_ the warehouse, quenching his thirst seemed like a better idea. While he walked across the road, he gave a quick sweep of the area around him. Cars seemed useless in a place like this. What business would anyone have in an abandoned town, much less an inoperable warehouse? He knew the odds at finding a living being were quite minute, but there was no harm in remaining vigilant. Black Ghost made a habit of appearing, literally, from what seemed like nowhere. 

The fountain was, more or less, in the same condition as the warehouse: Inoperable. However, its failure to work came not from lack of activity but broken pieces. A large mound of sand occupied the bowl, which he assumed sifted through the pipes that traveled below ground, rendering it useless. 

"Damn," he stated, kicking the ground to create a veil of dust that slowly made its way upward. 

Jet Link, the expert of air-combat, was, in more ways than one, completely baffled. 

Prior to arriving in this poor excuse of a town, he lived what he assumed would be the rest of his life in New York, in a small apartment with meager furnishings. He had, compliments of Dr. Gilmore, a small scanner placed within his room, constantly activated and searching for any signatures of Black Ghost technology. He realized that, even though Black ghost himself was destroyed, as well as his base of operations, the organization was so spread out among the continents of the earth that even attempting to destroy it, in its entirety, would take nothing less than _years_. 

He knew his current life style was too good to be true. Not even three months into his battle-hiatus did the scanner relay coordinates to what appeared to be a base of operations. 

But, after finding the warehouse that currently sat on those same coordinates, he was beginning to question if whether or not Dr. Gilmore was slipping in his old age. The equipment, it seemed, was faulty. But that was unlike Dr. Gilmore--to create technology that didn't work. 

_Where did that signal come from, anyway?_ He thought, scratching his head in a visible display of confusion. 

Unbeknownst to our hero, within the crumbling, green walls of the warehouse, a small, oval-shaped object was attached to a wall in one of the upper offices. The object was emitting a low, barely audible beeping noise every few seconds, alerting those around it that it was still functioning. The entire object was rounded with a flat bottom that could attach to any structure with a small amount of adhesive. The middle was crimson-red, catching the eye of anyone who would find it, for it had the resemblance of blood when it forms a rounded bead on the opening of a small cut. 

Near the object, hidden in the shadows, was a stout figure. However, the details of his face and form were indistinguishable. His shadow was elongated by the evening sun, stretched out to the length of the room and traveled up the wall, distorting his overall appearance. He seemed, judging from his shadow, to be over ten feet tall, with long, skinny legs and a tiny head. But that was far from his _real_ appearance. A small tuft of light-blond hair was emphasized by the darkness around him. This tuft of hair, however, was visible less than four feet from the ground. He was nothing more than a child. 

The figure stepped from the shadows just enough to illuminate his face. He was a small boy who looked no older than eight. He walked toward the nearby window from which the light came, poking his head just enough past the pane to see the top of Jet's orange, spiked head. 

"Look out, Jet..." The boy stated in a mock warning. 

* * * * *

Jet kicked aside the rusty sheet of metal with more force than was obviously necessary. He was taking out his anger on the closest object that bore any offensive nature. The piece of metal seemed to be a likely individual. It was not only in his way, but covering something else that had a more _metallic_ shine. This new object, the one hidden by the rusty piece of scrap-metal, had the appearance of being lodged in the ground as if it were built there. He decided, upon seeing that glimmer of reflected sunlight, that it would be in his best interest to investigate. 

This new sheet of metal was imbedded into the ground less than one inch, but just enough to be noticeable. One might have believed, upon a quick glance, that it was just heavy. This would have been a nice thesis had it not been for the obvious door handle that stuck out from the middle. This intrigued him. 

He gripped the handle tightly and found that his fingers slipped into several grooves that nearly fit to his hand perfectly. He pulled upward. A myriad of beeps and various other computerized noises emitted from the handle and behind the door. He jumped back immediately, fearing he had triggered some type of booby trap. However, the door only opened to reveal a darkened staircase. 

He stood completely still for a moment. He was debating if he should acknowledge the presence of this underground stairwell. When he thought over the facts of his situation, namely the surroundings being in no way usable, he came to the conclusion that he was completely entitled to the belief that those stairs would lead to no where important. 

Was he using common sense, or was he merely scared? 

He refused to even consider the latter and thought his doubts about the scenery before him were completely valid. However, the very idea of backing down from a blackened _anything_ left him feeling weak. For a moment he walked away, turning around completely, not even giving a second glance to the door. He would not have done so had his friends been around. His friends? What would they think if they were to look upon him now? He pivoted on his left foot so he faced the door once more, heaved a heavy breath as if he were jumping into an ocean, and walked forward with a determined glare. 

* * * * *

The small boy knew of a back entrance. He was already beneath ground when he heard the rhythmic footsteps of a person nearby. Click, clack, click, clack, the man on the other end of the hallway came nearer with each step. The boy was unafraid; in fact, he was looking forward to seeing the man. He had something to give him. A wire was seen that jutted from his wrist and attached to a circuit breaker box nearby. 

[**Note**: Loads of action in the next chapter. This one merely set the stage for the scenes to come.] 


	4. Chapter 4

**Pygmalion**

Chapter Four 

* * *

The term _stairs_ was an understatement. It was more of a ladder. But that was no big deal, right? So he would have to climb downward vertically, his only light fading with each step he made. No biggie. His shaking knees were a definite sign of his complete calmness, all right. He took a tentative step forward, reaching downward to grab the first step with his fingers. It was a cool metal of some kind, perhaps that weak, light-silver stuff they use in public pools. Like _that_ would make him feel better. 

He turned sideways so his feet were parallel with the entrance and lowered the right one. He moved slowly, waiting for his foot to come in contact with a hardened substance instead of passing through the air beneath him. His foot touched the second step, the one directly beneath what he was using as a handle. He sighed loudly; the action was a way of releasing the anxiety he felt only moments before.

The climb itself raised his anxiety. What if the stairs never ended? What if they lead to some dismal, dark hallway that had no form of lighting whatsoever? What if the hallway was so dark that, upon taking one step forward, he would be lost, unable to find his way back from whence he came? These fears released themselves into rhetorical questions, questions that answers weren't meant for, that only served the purpose of adding some form of logical reasoning against the actions he was currently undertaking. 

The air was becoming colder. Just enough for him to notice, and allow him to infer that he was traveling deep below ground. The metal he held was _nippy_ to begin with, but even more so now. 

And finally, after what seemed like an eternity, his foot touched solid ground.

His boots made a hollow noise when they flattened against the surface. The floor seemed to be made of metal and it was likely that the walls were of the same substance as well.

__

Now what to do? It was quite probable that light was an issue for those who occupied the area when it was intact, not to mention safe to enter. Taking that into consideration, it was also quite probable that a light switch was somewhere in the vicinity. He fumbled in the darkness, feeling the smooth walls around the ladder, hoping to find something that would produce illumination.

He felt a box that was built onto the wall. The surface was flat, until his fingers found a narrow crack an inch or so from the edge on the right side. He felt up the length of the groove until his fingers touched another surface that curved. A handle. He turned it down, and then he pulled. The door opened with ease -- much to his surprise.

Inside the box was a row of switches -- at least, that's what his fingers told him. However, a problem arose when he realized that more than one switch meant more than one device. There was no doubt in his mind that one gave power to light bulbs that might have been dangling above his head. And it was more than likely that one gave power to some form of defense mechanism: One that triggered numerous painful ways of relieving the area of an intruder.

* * * * *

Jet may not have been an intellectual in terms of literature, fine arts, and academics, but his situation as a child called for large amounts of common sense. And the boy was sure that he held plenty of it. He stayed by his circuit breaker box, glaring ahead at the darkness. The soft sounds that resulted from scuffling shoes lead him to believe that Jet had found his way below.

If Jet held a large accumulation of the aforementioned, then he was, more than likely, looking for a light switch. After all, what good would it do -- to search for someone when your own hand wasn't visible? He closed his eyes with that in mind. By keeping himself connected to the box via his detachable wire, his consciousness was distributed among the various cables and circuits that interlaced behind the metal wall.

When Jet flicked the switch, he would know.

* * * * *

He took a long shot when he reached for the first switch, but his fears subsided when the lights turned on, one by one, above his head. However, the sudden dimming and the noises that followed alerted his senses. It started with the lights down the hall, and it only took a few seconds for the ones directly above him to shatter and rain sparks above where he stood. He covered his head with his arms and ran forward to where the light bulbs had already burst.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

The room was dark once more. Jet looked around frantically for something to blame, a possible scapegoat to release his swelling fears upon. His logical reasoning told him to calm down... it was probably just a malfunction. The few seconds of previous light had given him a view of the scenery, and, to state it bluntly, it looked terrible. Everything was rusty and covered with dust. It was perfectly natural if the wires were faulty.

However, a swift kick to the back of his head told him otherwise.

Jet lay sprawled on the ground, his hand reaching to rub the lower portion of his skull where it connected to the back of his neck. He lifted his hand and rubbed the middle and index fingers against his thumb in a circular motion. Good, there was no moisture. He wasn't bleeding. He spoke calmly to his attacker while he pushed himself up from the ground.

"Kicking a man when he can't see, not mention when his back was turned... that's just dirty fighting."

A higher pitched voice, notably younger, returned his comment with a snide remark of the most sarcastic fashion.

"What other kind of fighting _is_ there?"

It was as if an electric shock ran through his head, a sudden jolt of realization that left him motionless. For a brief moment his mind discarded everything around him save for that one voice. The familiarity was far too strong. He _knew _this person, whoever he was. 

Knowing that his attacker was behind him, Jet pulled out his gun. He set the weapon so it would fire a barrage of multiple lasers. He aimed toward the side because his intentions were not to harm... Yet. He fired. The red glow that emitted from the small darts lit up a portion of the room, including the face behind him.

A round face framed with blond hair nearly the same color as the scarf that billowed behind him.

"Jimmy...?"

As if to acknowledge his question, the gun within his grasp was kicked aside. With no time to react, Jet was face first on the ground once more, the tips of Jimmy's boots digging into his side. Jimmy swung his leg back for one final blow, hoping to crack several of the older cyborg's ribs, but Jet rolled away before the impact.

A few droplets of blood splashed against the ground. They had fallen from the corner of Jet's mouth when he coughed. It was all too absurd, yet oddly brilliant. Black Ghost had undoubtedly seen the interactions between himself and Jimmy, and had chosen to use it to his advantage.

As he looked up, Jet could faintly make out a dimming light. Jimmy held a flashlight in his hand, his other prying the metal on the circuit breaker box aside to expose the wiring beneath. The ladder was behind the boy, so escape seemed useless. He could, if he wanted to, strike Jimmy down with a swift blow to the back of the head. It would only hurt for a few moments. But it would _hurt_.

The skin on Jimmy's wrist split in the middle and opened like an elevator door. From within the cavern of his arm a long, thin wire with a mind of its own buried itself within the circuit breaker box. An odd smile crept to the boy's lips. It was more of smirk, really, because the corners of his lips only crept up on one side.

Jet remembered his _acceleration mode_. He had been relying primarily on his jets recently. He labeled it as a matter of pride. There was no use for an attack deemed inferior when compared to someone else's. Second place would never due, so he used his speed where Joe could not, and that was in the sky. For now, however, it was time to bury his pride for the sake of his body. 

"All right, Jet, it's been fun and all..."

Jimmy turned his head to look at Jet, his arm pulsating with electricity. He narrowed his eyes as Jet disappeared from view, but snapped his head around when he heard the clank of feet upon metal. Jet had gone up the ladder, and onto the street above.

* * * * *

__

Unbeknownst to our hero, within the crumbling, green walls of the warehouse, a small, oval-shaped object was attached to a wall in one of the upper offices. The object was emitting a low, barely audible beeping noise every few seconds, alerting those around it that it was still functioning. The entire object was rounded with a flat bottom that could attach to any structure with a small amount of adhesive. The middle was crimson-red, catching the eye of anyone who would find it, for it had the resemblance of blood when it forms a rounded bead on the opening of a small cut. 

Not only had this object produced a signal that led him to a mousetrap, but provided quite a boom as well. An explosion ripped apart the metal walls of the warehouse before Jet could activate his mode of escape. The force of the blast knocked him aside and the heat from the flames surrounded him entirely, scorching not only his uniform, but the skind exposed underneath the torn material. Before his body reached the ground, a piece of shrapnel embedded itself within his side.

For a brief, fleeting moment his wound was numb and the surroundings were fuzzy. His vision focused on one shape against the horizon. It was a silhouette walking forward, a figure cloaked in black. The shape split itself in two, revealing a pair of figures, each one similar in appearance yet different at the same time. A woman and her child.

__

Cathy... Jimmy...

As the figures continued to walk forward, Jet's mind began to race. He couldn't find the willpower to lift himself from the ground, much less hold his own against two opponents. Besides, there was a personal connection to both individuals. He couldn't raise a hand against them, even if he tried. 

A shadow loomed overhead, spreading its great expanse across the ground. The two figures stopped and looked upward, their eyes widened in... fear, perhaps? Jet's head felt heavy and it rolled to one side. He couldn't see the Dolphin landing beside him, the sun reflecting from its smooth surface to produce a blinding light. He couldn't see Albert's face as he jumped from the half-opened hatch, and he certainly couldn't see Cathy or Jimmy. They had already left, disappearing among the wreckage of the warehouse.

****

For those of you confused, Cathy and Jimmy lived in the same apartment complex as Jet. Cathy was Jimmy's mother and worked two jobs -- one at a coffee shop and one at a hotel -- she was a single parent and had to support her son. Jet rescued Cathy when the hotel she worked at burned down, and Jimmy formed a bond with Jet, viewing him as a role model. They appeared in the episode "Hero". You now know the identity of two new cyborgs. Who's the third, you ask? HINT -- It's not an original character, the only three I've made up are Madison, Dr. Farish and Stuart.


End file.
